Terrified of These Four Walls
by procrastin8or951
Summary: Reponse to "Shooting Stars." How did Nick cope with going underground like that? Nick/Warrick friendship. Oneshot.


_The tires made a crunching noise as they rolled to a stop in the desert outside Las Vegas. Nick hopped out of the Denali and grabbed his kit. _

_"Hey!" he yelled, and Greg looked up and waved. Nick grinned and waved back. Greg was a fun guy to work with: smart, funny, and just a little bit crazy. _

_The compound was nearly invisible against the dusty background of the desert. Nick walked toward it, a feeling of foreboding already settling into the pit of his stomach. _

_Doc Robbins was standing outside the building, leaning on his cane. "Hey, Nick." _

_"How many we lookin' at, Doc?" Nick asked, already feeling suffocated by the heat of the day. _

_"Eleven, total." Nick exhaled loudly, surprised at the high number. "It's hot." No kidding. "You got to move." _

_The coroner walked past Nick, as he stood staring down into the compound. Down there? Nick thought. No way. _

_From his new vantage point, he could clearly see that the compound went underground. A place he hadn't intended to ever be again. Certainly not willingly, and he was pretty sure he'd die before he let someone force him underground against his will. _

_"Yeah, eighty feet underground, no A/C. Thought I was going to suffocate." Oh God, oh God, I don't wanna go down there, he thought, almost panicked. _

_That guy thought he was going to suffocate…how close did he come to shooting himself in the head because he was trapped down there and his air was cut off? Did he feel the walls closing in, hear the screaming of his own rasping breaths as his lungs fought to extract any amount of oxygen from the thick, dusty air?_

_"I can't even get down there. Claustrophobic," another man said. __**He's**__ claustrophobic?! Was he unable to ride in a car with the windows up? Unable to go into a room without windows? _

_The man said he couldn't "get down there," like it was a physical disability. No. That wasn't right. That man couldn't go down there because he was too scared. _

_'Are you going to be the same way?' he thought, surprising himself. Where did that even come from? _

_Nick looked back, longing to be going that way, instead of into the bunker. He forced himself to walk down the steps, to the doorway. _

_'You going to go?' he asked himself. 'You gonna go do your job? Or are you going to stand here like a coward, waiting for someone to notice you so you can make an excuse and go hide in your car?' _

_He could do this. He could, and he would. Nick could make himself go down there. He could do it without having a panic attack, without any flashbacks to the event that had changed his life. He could do this. _

_He looked back again, wishing he didn't have to go into the bunker, knowing he had to. Sure, he could tell someone that he couldn't do it. They would understand. Tell him he had nothing to prove. But he knew different. Maybe there was nothing to prove to them, but he had to show himself that he was in control of his own life. Otherwise, he wouldn't be. _

_Deep breath. Another, another, another, and then he took the first step through the doorway, into the darkness below. _

Nick lay flat on his back, staring up at the bright blue sky. He breathed deeply, forcing air into his lungs. He hadn't lay like this since he was buried in that box.

He didn't like lying like this, he still didn't. It was comfortable, in a terrifying way. As though his body had gotten used to lying like that, and was merely reverting to old habit. He was afraid of what else he might go back to.

And yet, here he lay, and he didn't feel the pressing need to move, as he had every time before. It was as though the memories were just that: memories. Not like every other time, when it was like he was there again. It was a memory, still vivid, but still only a ghost of what had happened.

It had to mean something, right? That he could do this now, that he could make himself go into that bunker. Some hadn't been able to, and they hadn't been through nearly as much. He was stronger, somehow, than they were. He was getting over it.

"Nick? Nick!" Warrick's face suddenly loomed over him.

"Yeah?" he responded.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"You sure? You got hit pretty hard," Warrick said worriedly.

"I'm good." Nick stuck out his hand, and Warrick grasped it, pulling him to his feet. Noting Warrick's still-worried expression, he grinned. "Really, I am."

"Whose idea was it to play football with these guys?" Warrick asked, smiling a little himself.

"That would be yours, bro. And don't think I'll forget it if I wake up and can't move tomorrow," Nick laughed.

"Well, I do believe it was your fault you got knocked down back there," Warrick pointed out.

"This is supposed to be _touch_ football, not tackle!" Nick protested.

"Man, he barely touched you. You're just a klutz," Warrick said, ducking as Nick playfully swung at him.

"I do believe you were supposed to be blocking for me," Nick commented.

"I believe it's your fault we lost the ball, 'cause _you're_ the one who fell over _and_ fumbled the ball."

"Well, if I had a better blocker, maybe that wouldn't have happened," Nick said.

"Bro, you know that no one looks out for you better than me," Warrick said, smiling.

"Yeah, I do," Nick said, suddenly serious. "Thanks, man."

"No problem, bro."

And with that, they returned to the game.


End file.
